The Truth About Sherlock
by Rage Girl YT
Summary: (Crossposted on AO3 and WattPad) My take on the Sherlock (and others) watch BBC's Sherlock.
1. Into The Theater

**Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING**

**Transcript by: Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan**

John and Mrs. Hudson were standing over Sherlock's grave, both we're still in shock over the death of Sherlock. They stared at the grave silently until Mrs. Hudson finally spoke up, "There's all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it to a school." she looked at John, "Would you ...?"

John winces slightly, "I can't go back to the flat again – not at the moment." She takes his arm sympathetically.

"I'm angry." he takes a deep breath through his nose, clearly trying very hard not to break down and she pats his arm gently.

"It's okay, John. There's nothing unusual in that. That's the way he made everyone feel." She gazes at the grave, "All the marks on my table; and the noise – firing guns at half past one in the morning!"

"Yeah."

"Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there's food!"

"Yes." John closes his eyes as Mrs. Hudson continues her rant, her voice breaking.

"And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!"

John turned to her, "Yeah, listen: I-I'm not actually that angry, okay?"

"Okay," she turns away from him and pulls her arm free from his, "I'll leave you alone to, erm... you know." Fishing a tissue to blow her nose and crying, she walks away. John looks down at the grave and drew in a deep breath. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Mrs. Hudson was well out of earshot and then turns back to the black, marble grave.

"Um... mmm. You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human... human being that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so... There," he blows out a breath and whimpered softly. He looked over his shoulder again as he walked over to the headstone and put his fingertips on the top of it, "I was so alone, and I owe you so much," A tearful breath escapes him, "Okay."

The soldier turned to walk away, but only gets to the foot of the grave before he turns back to it again, "No, please, there's just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't... be..." His voice breaks as her chokes on his tears, "... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it," he gestures to the grave below him, "Stop this."

A sigh escapes his lips and he lowers his head. He stands there silently for a moment before covering his face with a hand and weeping quietly. After a few moments, he finally wipes his eyes and sniffles, before raising his head and coming to attention for his best friend. He nodded in salute to his fallen friend and he turned sharply on his heel and walked away.

He slid into the cab next to Mrs. Hudson and it started to drive off. They had been sitting for just over a minute when a bright white light filled the cab and both blacked out.

When John came to, he was sitting in a comfortable armchair with people he knew very well around a TV screen in a semi-circle. Closest to the screen on either side were two figures shrouded in shadows. Next to the one on the right was a third shadowed figure, this one clearly a woman while the other two appeared more male. Besides the shadowy female sat the reporter girl that had ruined Sherlock's life, Kitty Riley. John felt anger bubble in his chest, and the feeling only grew as he noticed Anderson and Donavan were sitting next to her. The only two things between John and the three of them was Mrs. Hudson and the odd blonde woman sat between them. He wondered who she was and why she was there with them, but only for a moment, before he turned to look at the group on his other side. Beside the lone shadow figure on the left sat none other than, Irene Adler. Sat next to The Woman, was a very displeased Mycroft Holmes, it was hard to tell if he was upset by the death of his brother or by the person he was sitting next too. Besides Mycroft sat Molly Hooper, the woman was squirming awkwardly in her seat seemingly not knowing what to do about the situation. Finally, between John and Molly seat Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Lestrade looked ready to say something, but someone else beat him to it.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" the blonde woman frowned deeply as she stared at them.

Mycroft let out a huff, "Clearly we're here to watch something..."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" John asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

"Mary Morstan." she looked at John.

John nodded slightly and introduced himself to her. Everyone else in the semi-circle, that they could see at least, did as well. After they sat in silence for a moment and the screen suddenly flickered to life One word appeared on the screen that almost broke John.

**"Sherlock"**


	2. A Study In Pink (Part 1)

**Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING**

**Transcript by: Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan**

"This is about the freak?" Donavan made a face and John turned and glared at her.

"He wasn't a freak," John growls at her harshly as the TV continued to play.

I**n a bedsit somewhere in London, John Watson is having a nightmare.**

"Wait... Why is this called Sherlock if it's about John?" Anderson frowned, "And why exactly are you having a nightmare?

"Maybe because the two of them are really close?" Mrs. Hudson giggled softly as John let out a loud groan before answering Anderson.

"I had a lot of nightmares before I met Sherlock. So, this is before I met him."

**He is reliving his Army days and his team is under fire somewhere abroad. A colleague cries out his name as the gunfire continues. Finally, he jolts awake and sits up in bed wide-eyed and breathing heavily until he realizes that he is safe and a long way from the war. Flopping back onto his pillow, he tries to calm his breathing as he continues to be haunted by his memories. Eventually, unable to stop himself, he begins to weep.**

"John..." Mrs. Hudson moved to hug John tightly. The man looks down sadly.

**Sometime later he has sat up on the side of the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. It's still dark outside. John sits quietly, wrapped up in his thoughts, and looks across to the desk on the other side of the room. A metal walking cane is leaning against the desk. He looks at it unhappily, then continues to gaze into the distance. He will not be sleeping again tonight.**

"John..." Molly's soft voice starts to say.

"I'm fine... Well... I was fine... Sherlock helped me..." The soldier's voice cracked slightly as he said the name of his dead friend.

**DAY TIME. The sun has finally risen and John, now wearing a dressing gown over his nightwear, hobbles across the room leaning heavily on his cane. In his other hand, he has a mug of tea and an apple, both of which he puts down onto the desk. The mug bears the arms of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Sitting down, he opens the drawer in the desk to get his laptop. As he lifts the computer out of the drawer, we see that he also has a pistol in there. Putting the laptop onto the desk and opening the lid he looks at the webpage which has automatically loaded. It reads, "The personal blog of Dr. John H. Watson". The rest of the page is blank.**

Everyone raised a brow at the blank page.

"Writer's block?" Kitty sneers slightly.

John glares at her, "No, I hadn't met Sherlock yet. My life was boring and there was nothing to write about at the time."

**Later he is at his psychotherapist's office and he sits in a chair opposite her.**  
**ELLA: How's your blog going?**  
**JOHN: Yeah, good. (He clears his throat awkwardly.) Very good.**

"You aren't a very good liar" Irene laughs at the man in question.

John grumbles quietly.  
**ELLA: You haven't written a word, have you?**  
**JOHN (pointing to Ella's notepad on her lap): You just wrote, "Still has trust issues."**  
**ELLA: And you read my writing upside down. D'you see what I mean?**

"Definitely had a point there." Greg laughs

John blushes a bit and nods, "Yeah. She did."  
**(John smiles awkwardly.)**  
**ELLA: John, you're a soldier, and it's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life, and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.**  
**(John gazes back at her, his face full of despair.)**  
**JOHN: Nothing happens to me.**

"Famous last words, right there." Molly smiles a bit.

"You really jinxed yourself didn't you, John." Lestrade glanced over at his friend with a small grin.

"Life with the freak must've been rough." Sally sneers, then huffs when all but Kitty and Anderson glare at her.

**Opening credits.**

"There are bloody credits!?" Donavan shrieked at the sight. The three dark figures all lean in closer to the screen while John stares sadly at the images of his old friend.

**OCTOBER 12TH. A well-dressed middle-aged businessman walks across the concourse of a busy London railway station talking into his mobile phone.**

Mary perked up, "Is this-"

"It does appear to be, Miss Morstan." Mycroft hums.

"Appear to be what?" Kitty raises an eyebrow.

He turns and stares at her with harsh eyes, "It is the first case that Dr. Watson did with Sherlock."  
**SIR JEFFREY: What d'you mean, there's no ruddy car?**  
**(His secretary is at his office talking into her phone as she walks across the room.)**

"Affair." Greg guesses immediately.  
**HELEN: He went to Waterloo. I'm sorry. Get a cab.**  
**SIR JEFFREY: I never get cabs.**  
**(Helen looks around furtively to make sure that nobody is within earshot, then speaks quietly into the phone.)**  
**HELEN: I love you.**  
**SIR JEFFREY (suggestively): When?**  
**HELEN (giggling): Get a cab!**  
**(Smiling as he hangs up, Sir Jeffrey looks around for the cab rank.)**

"Affair seems pretty likely to me." Mary hums softly and nods at Greg who shoots a little grin at her.

**Some unspecified time later, sitting on the floor by the window of what appears to be an office many stories above ground, Sir Jeffrey unscrews the lid of a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. Tipping one out, he stares ahead of himself wide-eyed and afraid and puts the capsule into his mouth. Later, he is writhing on the floor in agony. We can now see that the office in which his dying body is lying is empty of furniture.**

"They were in pain..." John breathes softly. Everyone winces, but no one looks away from the horrible scene. Two of the dark figures appear to be laughing while one lowers their head slightly.

**POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE. Flanked by a police officer and another man who may be her solicitor or a family member, Sir Jeffrey's wife is sitting at a table making a statement to the press.**  
**MARGARET PATTERSON (tearfully as she reads from her statement): My husband was a happy man who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work – and that he should have taken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him.**  
**(Standing at one side of the room, Helen tries to keep control of her feelings but eventually closes her eyes and lets the tears roll down her face.)**

"Well... It was an affair..." Greg shifts awkwardly.

"The poor dear..." Mrs. Hudson frowns softly.

NOVEMBER 26TH. Two boys in their late teens are running down a street at night in the pouring rain. Gary has opened a fold-up umbrella and is trying to keep it under control in the wind, while Jimmy has his jacket pulled up over his head. He calls out in triumph when a black cab approaches with its yellow sign lit to show that it is available for hire.  
JIMMY: Yes, yes, taxi, yes!  
(He whistles and waves to the taxi but it drives past. He makes an exasperated sound, then starts to head back in the direction he just came, looking around at his friend.)

"So that wasn't the cab then?" John tilts his head.

"Must not've been." Greg nods.  
JIMMY: I'll be back in two minutes, mate.  
GARY: What?  
JIMMY: I'm just going home; get my mum's umbrella.  
GARY: You can share mine!  
JIMMY: Two minutes, all right?  
(He walks away. Sometime later Gary looks at his watch, apparently worried because Jimmy has been gone for too long. He turns around and heads back in pursuit of his friend.)

"That poor kid." Molly sighs, "I always hate seeing the young ones... They have so much to live for..."

"Cheers." Greg leans back in his seat.

Some unspecified time later, Jimmy sits crying and clutching a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. He unscrews the lid, his hands shaking, and sobs. We see that he is sitting on a window ledge inside a sports center overlooking a sports court.

"Why would he have even gotten a cab? He said it was a two-minute walk?" Kitty huffs and Sally nods in agreement.

"Maybe he wanted to surprise his friend since they couldn't get one before." Greg shrugs.

The following day, an article in The Daily Express runs the headline "Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports centre".

JANUARY 27TH. At a public venue, a party is being held. A large poster showing a photograph of the guest of honor is labeled "Your local MP, Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport." As pounding dance music comes from inside the room, one of Beth's aides walks out of the room and goes over to her male colleague who is standing at the bar. He looks at her in exasperation.  
AIDE 1: Is she still dancing?  
AIDE 2: Yeah, if you can call it that.  
AIDE 1: Did you get the car keys off her?  
AIDE 2 (showing him the keys): Got 'em out of her bag.  
(The man smiles in satisfaction, then looks into the dance hall and frowns.)  
AIDE 1: Where is she?

"They're supposed to be watching her, but they have no idea where she is? How idiotic can you be!?" John huffs.

Beth has slipped out of the venue and is standing at the side of her car searching through her handbag for her keys. She sighs when she can't find them and looks around helplessly.

Some unspecified time later, Beth stands inside a portacabin on a building site and sobs hysterically. As she continues to cry, she reaches out a trembling hand towards a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules.

"That's three victims down. Are we going to be seeing Sherlock now?" Greg wonders out loud.

POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE. Detective Inspector Lestrade sits at the table looking uncomfortable while his colleague sitting beside him, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addresses the gathered press reporters.

"Or we'll see the press conference." He shrugs, "At least I'm there~"

"Maybe we'll finally get to see how the freak does it," Donavan grumbles.  
DONOVAN: The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.  
REPORTER 1: Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?

"It's actually pretty easy after you find out that they're actually murders."

"Yeah, well, we didn't exactly know that then, now did we?" Greg pouts a bit.  
LESTRADE: Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ...  
REPORTER 1 (interrupting): But you can't have serial suicides.  
LESTRADE: Well, apparently you can.  
REPORTER 2: These three people: there's nothing that links them?  
LESTRADE: There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one.  
(Everybody's mobile phone trills a text alert simultaneously. As they look at their phones, each message reads:

Wrong!

"I actually miss those damn texts." Greg sighs.

"How does he do it though!" Kitty cries.

"Is it not obvious?" Mycroft looks at Donavan and the reporter, "It's not exactly rocket science to figure out what reporters will be where and look them up in the phone book." Mary nods along to the elder Holmes's statement.

Donovan looks at the same message on her own phone.)  
DONOVAN: If you've all got texts, please ignore them.  
REPORTER 1: Just says, 'Wrong'.  
DONOVAN: Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end.  
REPORTER 2: But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?  
LESTRADE: As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ...  
(Everybody's mobile trills another text alert and again each message reads:

Wrong!

REPORTER 1: Says, 'Wrong' again.  
(Lestrade looks despairingly at Sally.)  
DONOVAN (to the reporters): One more question.  
REPORTER 3: Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?  
LESTRADE: I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered.  
REPORTER 3: Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?  
LESTRADE: Well, don't commit suicide.

"Really, Lestrade?" Molly raises an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean... He isn't wrong?" Mary snorts softly.  
(The reporter looks at him in shock. Donovan covers her mouth and murmurs a warning.)  
DONOVAN: "Daily Mail."  
(Lestrade grimaces and looks at the reporters again.)  
LESTRADE: Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be.  
(Again the mobiles trill their text alerts, and once more each message reads:

Wrong!

But Lestrade's phone takes a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looks at it, the message reads:

You know where  
to find me.  
SH

"So that was what he sent you," Donavan crosses her arms, " I knew it was too long to have been the same thing everyone else had gotten."

Greg shrugs, "He always knew when I needed help."

John laughs, "He kept up with your cases. Once it was interesting to him, it was too hard for you, so he'd want to help. He always knew there was something interesting when you brought him a case."

Donavan rolls her eyes and sneers, "Freak got off on murder. That's all."

Looking exasperated, he puts the phone into his pocket and looks at the reporters as he stands up.)  
LESTRADE: Thank you.

Shortly afterward, he and Donovan are walking through the offices of New Scotland Yard.  
DONOVAN: You've got to stop him doing that. He's making us look like idiots.  
LESTRADE: Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him.

"Don't think that's something we can actually stop. Never know what number he'll message from and we can't keep him from having a phone book." Greg shrugs.

Donavan glares at the floor.

RUSSELL SQUARE PARK. John is limping briskly through the park, leaning heavily on his cane. As he walks past a man sitting on a bench, the man stares after him, clearly recognizing him. He calls out.  
MIKE: John! John Watson!

"Is he a friend of yours, John?" Mrs. Hudson looks over at him.

John nods and smiles softly, "He's the reason that I met Sherlock and moved into 221B."

"Sherlock knew that guy? And talked to him?" Donavan stared in shock as Kitty blinked.

Molly hums, "Yeah, keep watching and it'll probably come up. He's a good friend of mine too."  
(John turns back to Mike as he stands up and hurries towards him, smiling.)  
MIKE: Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together.

"Ah, that makes sense." Greg nods with a small smile.

"What does?" Kitty looks at him.

"He was at Bart's. He probably met Sherlock while he was doing experiments."

"Oh..."  
JOHN: Yes, sorry, yes, Mike. (He takes Mike's offered hand and shakes it.) Hello, hi.  
MIKE (grinning and gesturing to himself): Yeah, I know. I got fat!  
JOHN (trying to sound convincing): No.

They all laugh at John's terrible lie.

John grumbles, "You try to lie about a person's weight."  
MIKE: I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?  
JOHN (awkwardly): I got shot.  
(They both look embarrassed.)

"Well... We know Sherlock doesn't talk to him for his brains."

Molly winces, "Mike... That should be obvious..."

A little later they have bought takeaway coffees and are sitting side by side on a bench in the park. Mike looks at John worriedly. Oblivious, John takes a sip from his coffee then looks across to his old colleague.  
JOHN: Are you still at Bart's, then?  
MIKE: Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!  
(They both laugh.)  
MIKE: What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?  
JOHN: I can't afford London on an Army pension.  
MIKE: Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know.  
JOHN (uncomfortably): Yeah, I'm not the John Watson...

They all wince.

"This is such an awkward conversation..." Anderson groans.  
(He stops. Mike awkwardly looks away and drinks his coffee. John switches his own cup to his right hand and looks down at his left hand, clenching it into a fist as he tries to control the tremor that has started. Mike looks around at him again.)  
MIKE: Couldn't Harry help?

"Who's Harry?" Kitty tilts her head.

"You'll find out. They're one of the few people that have managed to stump Sherlock."

"They what-"

JOHN (sarcastically): Yeah, like that's gonna happen!  
MIKE (shrugging): I dunno – get a flatshare or something?  
JOHN: Come on – who'd want me for a flatmate?  
(Mike chuckles thoughtfully.)  
JOHN: What?  
MIKE: Well, you're the second person to say that to me today.  
JOHN: Who was the first?

"Sherlock obviously." Greg laughs.

ST BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL MORGUE. Sherlock Holmes unzips the body bag lying on the table and peers at the corpse inside. He sniffs.

"That's disgusting!" Donavan and Kitty both screech.

John huffs in annoyance, "Yes, disgusting. He doesn't just use his sight when observing a body or crime scene."  
SHERLOCK: How fresh?  
(Pathologist Molly Hooper walks over.)  
MOLLY: Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice.  
(Zipping up the bag, Sherlock straightens, turns to her and smiles falsely.)

"Did he ever really smile at anyone?" Molly sighs sadly.  
SHERLOCK: Fine. We'll start with the riding crop.

Shortly afterward the body has been removed from the bag and is lying on its back on the table. In the observation room next door, Molly watches and flinches while Sherlock flogs the body repeatedly and violently with a riding crop, but her face is also full of admiration. She walks back into the room and as he finishes and straightens up, breathless, she goes over to him.  
MOLLY (jokingly): So, bad day, was it?  
SHERLOCK (ignoring her banter as he gets out a notebook and starts writing in it): I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me.  
MOLLY: Listen, I was wondering: maybe later, when you're finished ...  
(Sherlock glances across to her as he is writing, then does a double-take and frowns at her.)  
SHERLOCK: Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before.

Greg blinks, "He actually noticed that you put on lipstick? Does he ever notice when other women put on makeup?"

John shrugs, "I'm not sure, but I definitely noticed how Sherlock always seems to be trying to keep her out of relationships."

They all looked at Molly, who just blushed a bit and shrugged, "I dunno..."  
MOLLY (nervously): I, er, I refreshed it a bit.  
(She smiles at him flirtatiously. He gives her a long oblivious look, then goes back to writing in his notebook.)

The pathologist groans softly now knowing how obvious her crush had been.

SHERLOCK: Sorry, you were saying?  
MOLLY _(gazing at him intently)_: I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee.  
_(Sherlock puts away his notebook.)_  
SHERLOCK: Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs.  
_(He walks away.)_  
MOLLY: ... Okay.

"That's not what she meant by that, Sherlock, dear..." Mrs. Hudson shakes her head and Molly blushes brightly.

_BART'S LAB. Sherlock is standing at the far end of the lab using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish. Mike knocks on the door and brings John in with him. Sherlock glances across at them briefly before looking at his work again. John limps into the room, looking around at all the equipment._

"You should pay attention here so you can see how he figured it all out." John looks at Anderson, Donavan, Kitty, and Greg.  
JOHN: Well, bit different from my day.  
MIKE _(chuckling)_: You've no idea!  
SHERLOCK _(sitting down)_: Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.  
MIKE: And what's wrong with the landline?  
SHERLOCK: I prefer to text.  
MIKE: Sorry. It's in my coat.  
_(John fishes in his back pocket and takes out his own phone.)_  
JOHN: Er, here. Use mine.  
SHERLOCK: Oh. Thank you.  
_(Glancing briefly at Mike, he stands up and walks towards John. Mike introduces him.)_  
MIKE: It's an old friend of mine, John Watson.  
_(Sherlock reaches John and takes his phone from him. Turning partially away from him, he flips open the keypad and starts to type on it.)_  
SHERLOCK: Afghanistan or Iraq?

They all blink wondering how Sherlock had reached his conclusion. It made no sense. Nothing John had done could have possibly lead him to that conclusion. They all had dead confused looks plastered on their faces while John had a small smile on his face, now noticing everything that Sherlock had mentioned later on.  
_(John frowns. Nearby, Mike smiles knowingly. John looks at Sherlock as he continues to type.)_  
JOHN: Sorry?  
SHERLOCK: Which was it– Afghanistan or Iraq?  
_(He briefly raises his eyes to John's before looking back to the phone. John hesitates, then looks across to Mike, confused. Mike just smiles smugly.)_  
JOHN: Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?  
_(Sherlock looks up as Molly comes into the room holding a mug of coffee.)_  
SHERLOCK: Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you.  
_(He shuts down John's phone and hands it back while Molly brings the mug over to him. He takes it and looks closely at her. Her mouth is paler again.)_  
SHERLOCK: What happened to the lipstick?  
MOLLY _(smiling awkwardly at him)_: It wasn't working for me.  
SHERLOCK: Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now.  
_(He turns and walks back to his station, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste.)_  
MOLLY: ... Okay.

"Sherlock, that was very rude of you! That's not something you should say to a lady."

"It's fine, I was used to it." Molly shrugs.

"You shouldn't have to be."  
_(She turns and heads back towards the door.)_  
SHERLOCK: How do you feel about the violin?  
_(John looks round at Molly but she's on her way out the door. He glances at Mike who is still smiling smugly, and finally realizes that Sherlock is talking to him.)_  
JOHN: I'm sorry, what?  
SHERLOCK _(typing on a laptop keyboard as he talks)_: I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. _(He looks around at John.)_ Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.

"Oh, yeah. Like those are the worst things about the freak." Donavan shakes her head.  
_(He throws a hideously false smile at John, who looks at him blankly for a moment then looks across to Mike.)_  
JOHN: Oh, you ... you told him about me?  
MIKE: Not a word.  
JOHN _(turning to Sherlock again)_: Then who said anything about flatmates?  
SHERLOCK _(picking up his greatcoat and putting it on)_: _I_ did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap.

"Obviously no a difficult leap. That is hardly an impressive deduction. Everything up until that point has been clearly pointing toward that outcome." Mycroft shakes his head.

"Who the hell even are you-"  
JOHN: How _did_ you know about Afghanistan?  
_(Sherlock ignores the question, wraps his scarf around his neck, then picks up his mobile and checks it.)_  
SHERLOCK: Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.  
_(He walks towards John.)_  
SHERLOCK: We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.  
_(Putting his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, he walks past John and heads for the door.)_  
JOHN _(turning to look at him)_: Is that it?  
_(Sherlock turns back from the door and strolls closer to John again.)_  
SHERLOCK: Is that what?  
JOHN: We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?

Molly tilts her head, " That doesn't seem all that odd to me. If you both need someplace to stay and you've ended up meeting, why not take advantage of someone that's willing to do it?"  
SHERLOCK: Problem?  
_(John smiles in disbelief, looking across to Mike for help, but his friend just continues to smile as he looks at Sherlock. John turns back to the younger man.)_  
JOHN: We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name.  
_(Sherlock looks closely at him for a moment before speaking.)_  
SHERLOCK: I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid.  
_(John looks down at his leg and cane and shuffles his feet awkwardly.)_  
SHERLOCK _(smugly)_: That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?  
_(He turns and walks to the door again, opening it and going through, but then leans back into the room again.)_  
SHERLOCK: The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street.  
_(He click-winks at John, then looks round at Mike.)_  
SHERLOCK: Afternoon.  
_(Mike raises a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappears from the room. As the door slams shut behind him, John turns and looks at Mike in disbelief. Mike smiles and nods to him.)_  
MIKE: Yeah. He's always like that.

"That was how you met him?" Anderson blinks, "And after that you still decided to meet up with him and move in there?"

"Well, yeah. He was willing to share a flat with me and he seemed interesting. It seemed like the best move for me."

Greg looks over at John, "Did he ever tell you how he knew all of that stuff?"

"He did. It should be coming up soon."

_LATER. John has returned to his bedsit. Sitting down on the bed, he takes out his mobile phone and flicks through the menu to find Messages Sent. The last message reads:_

If brother has green ladder  
arrest brother.  
SH

_(Puzzled, John looks at the message for a long moment, then looks across to the table where his laptop is lying. He pushes himself to his feet and walks over to the table. Shortly afterwards, he has called up a search website called Quest and types "Sherlock Holmes" into the search box.)_

"You researched him?"

"Of course I researched him. After everything he did, wouldn't you?"

In an unknown location, a woman wearing a pink overcoat and pink high-heeled shoes slowly reaches down with a trembling hand towards a clear glass bottle which is standing on the bare floorboards and which contains three large capsules. Her fingers close around the bottle and she slowly lifts it off the floor, her hand still shaking.

"Victim number four..."

BAKER STREET. John limps along the road and reaches the door marked 221B just as a black cab pulls up at the curb behind him. John knocks on the door as Sherlock gets out of the cab.  
SHERLOCK: Hello.  
(He reaches in through the window of the cab and hands some money to the driver.)  
SHERLOCK: Thank you.  
(John turns towards him as he walks over.)  
JOHN: Ah, Mr. Holmes.  
SHERLOCK: Sherlock, please.  
(They shake hands.)  
JOHN: Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive.  
SHERLOCK: Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out.  
JOHN: Sorry – you stopped her husband being executed?  
SHERLOCK: Oh no. I ensured it.

"HE WHAT!?" Kitty cried out loudly and turned to look at Mrs. Hudson.

The older woman just stared at the screen with a tiny smile plastered on her face.  
(He smiles at John as the front door is opened by Mrs. Hudson, who opens her arms to the younger man.)  
MRS HUDSON: Sherlock, hello.  
(Sherlock turns and walks into her arms, hugging her briefly, then steps back and presents John to her.)  
SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson.  
MRS HUDSON: Hello.  
JOHN: How do?  
MRS HUDSON (gesturing John inside): Come in.  
JOHN: Thank you.  
SHERLOCK: Shall we?  
MRS HUDSON: Yeah.  
(The men go inside and Mrs. Hudson closes the door. Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first-floor landing, then pauses and waits for John to hobble upstairs. As John reaches the top of the stairs, Sherlock opens the door ahead of him and walks in, revealing the living room of the flat. John follows him in and looks around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it.)  
JOHN: Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed.  
SHERLOCK: Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely.  
(He looks around the flat happily.)  
SHERLOCK: So I went straight ahead and moved in.  
JOHN (simultaneously): Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh.

"That's quite embarrassing."  
(He pauses, embarrassed, when he realizes what Sherlock was saying.)  
JOHN: So this is all ...  
SHERLOCK: Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit.  
(He walks across the room and makes a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he puts them onto the mantelpiece and then stabs a multi tool knife into them. John has noticed something else on the mantelpiece and lifts his cane to point at it.)  
JOHN: That's a skull.  
SHERLOCK: Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'...

"How much of a freak do you have to be..."

"Wait... Is that a real skull?" Kitty makes a face.  
(Mrs. Hudson has followed them into the room. She picks up a cup and saucer while Sherlock takes off his greatcoat and scarf.)  
MRS HUDSON: What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms.  
JOHN: Of course we'll be needing two.  
MRS HUDSON: Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. (Confidentially, dropping her voice to a whisper by the end of the sentence) Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones.

"I'm not gay."

"Never said you were."  
(John looks across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John are not involved in that way but Sherlock appears oblivious to what's being insinuated. Mrs. Hudson walks across to the kitchen, then turns back and frowns at Sherlock.)

"Why did he not deny it? He usually always corrects people when they're wrong about anything."

"And yet he never corrected people when they made assumptions about him and John..."

John groans loudly.  
MRS HUDSON: Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made.  
(She goes into the kitchen and starts tidying up, and John walks over to one of the two armchairs, plumps up a cushion on the chair and then drops heavily down into it. He looks across to Sherlock who is still tidying up a little.)  
JOHN: I looked you up on the internet last night.  
SHERLOCK (turning around to him): Anything interesting?  
JOHN: Found your website, The Science of Deduction.  
SHERLOCK (smiling proudly): What did you think?  
(John throws him a "you have got to be kidding me" type of look. Sherlock looks hurt.)  
JOHN: You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb.  
SHERLOCK: Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone.  
JOHN: How?  
(Sherlock smiles and turns away. Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen reading a newspaper.)  
MRS HUDSON: What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same.  
(Sherlock walks over to the window of the living room at the sound of a car pulling up outside.)  
SHERLOCK: Four.  
(He looks down at the car as someone gets out of it. The vehicle is a police car with its lights flashing on the roof.)

"How did he-"

Greg blinks, "Seeing this it's obvious. We came to get him. Obviously there was another and something was different. It makes sense."  
SHERLOCK: There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time.  
MRS HUDSON: A fourth?  
(Sherlock turns as D.I. Lestrade [who apparently must have picked the lock on the front door ... like you do ...] trots up the stairs and comes into the living room.)  
SHERLOCK: Where?  
LESTRADE: Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.  
SHERLOCK: What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different.  
LESTRADE: You know how they never leave notes?  
SHERLOCK: Yeah.  
LESTRADE: This one did. Will you come?  
SHERLOCK: Who's on forensics?  
LESTRADE: It's Anderson.

"Me!"

"Shut up, Anderson."

"Okay..."  
SHERLOCK (grimacing): Anderson won't work with me.  
LESTRADE: Well, he won't be your assistant.  
SHERLOCK: I need an assistant.  
LESTRADE: Will you come?  
SHERLOCK: Not in a police car. I'll be right behind.  
LESTRADE: Thank you.  
(Looking round at John and Mrs Hudson for a moment, he turns and hurries off down the stairs. Sherlock waits until he has reached the front door, then leaps into the air and clenches his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.)  
SHERLOCK: Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!

"Freak! How can he be excited about this!"

"I mean, at least he waited until Lestrade left? That's got to count for something?"  
(Picking up his scarf and coat he starts to put them on while heading for the kitchen.)  
SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food.  
MRS HUDSON: I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper.  
SHERLOCK: Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!  
(Grabbing a small leather pouch from the kitchen table, he opens the kitchen door and disappears from view. Mrs. Hudson turns back to John.)  
MRS HUDSON: Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same.  
(John grimaces at her repeated implication that he and Sherlock are an item.)  
MRS HUDSON: But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell.  
(John looks uncomfortable.)  
MRS HUDSON (turning towards the door): I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg.  
JOHN (loudly): Damn my leg!

Everyone jumps back in shock at John's sudden outburst.  
(His response was instinctive and he is immediately apologetic even as Mrs Hudson turns back to him in shock.)  
JOHN: Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing ...  
(He bashes his leg with his cane.)  
MRS HUDSON: I understand, dear; I've got a hip.  
(She turns towards the door again.)  
JOHN: Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you.  
MRS HUDSON: Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper.  
JOHN: Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em.  
MRS HUDSON: Not your housekeeper!

John smiled and laughed a bit, "Had to tell us that a lot, didn't you."

"Of course, you boys never seemed to get the message."  
(John has picked up the newspaper which Mrs. Hudson put down and now he looks at the article reporting Beth Davenport's apparent suicide. Next to a large photograph of Beth is a smaller one showing the man who just visited the flat and identifying him as D.I. Lestrade. Before he can read on, Sherlock's voice interrupts him and John looks up and sees him standing at the living room door.)  
SHERLOCK: You're a doctor. In fact, you're an Army doctor.  
JOHN: Yes.  
(He gets to his feet and turns towards Sherlock as he comes back into the room again.)  
SHERLOCK: Any good?  
JOHN: Very good.  
SHERLOCK: Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths.  
JOHN: Mmm, yes.  
SHERLOCK: Bit of trouble too, I bet.  
JOHN (quietly): Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.  
SHERLOCK: Wanna see some more?  
JOHN (fervently): Oh God, yes.

Everyone blinks at John's response.

The army doctor blushes deeply.

"So, you're a freak too?"

"Do not call John a freak. In fact, you shouldn't call Sherlock a freak either." Mary glowers at the curly-haired Yarder.  
(Sherlock spins on his heel and leads John out of the room and down the stairs. John calls out as he follows him down.)  
JOHN: Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out.  
MRS HUDSON (standing near the bottom of the stairs): Both of you?  
(Sherlock has almost reached the front door but now turns and walks back towards her.)  
SHERLOCK: Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!  
(He takes her by the shoulders and kisses her noisily on the cheek.)

"Of course Sherlock finds it fun. He's probably the only person that would." Greg rolls his eyes in amusement.  
MRS HUDSON: Look at you, all happy. It's not decent.  
(She can't help but smile, though, as he turns away and heads for the front door again.)  
SHERLOCK: Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!  
(He walks out onto the street and hails an approaching black cab.)  
SHERLOCK: Taxi!  
(The taxi pulls up alongside and he and John get in, then the car drives off again and heads for Brixton. The boys sit in silence for a long time while Sherlock sits with his eyes fixed on his smartphone and John keeps stealing nervous glances at him. Finally Sherlock lowers his phone.)  
SHERLOCK: Okay, you've got questions.  
JOHN: Yeah, where are we going?

"Were you not paying attention when I was telling Sherlock?"

"Uh... Not really, no."  
SHERLOCK: Crime scene. Next?  
JOHN: Who are you? What do you do?  
SHERLOCK: What do you think?  
JOHN (slowly, hesitantly): I'd say private detective ...  
SHERLOCK: But?  
JOHN: ... but the police don't go to private detectives.  
SHERLOCK: I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job.  
JOHN: What does that mean?  
SHERLOCK: It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.

"We are not always out of our depth!" Anderson cries.

"Not always, but we are a lot..." Greg sighs.  
JOHN: The police don't consult amateurs.  
(Sherlock throws him a look.)  
SHERLOCK: When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised.  
JOHN: Yes, how did you know?

"Finally!"  
SHERLOCK: I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room ...  
(Flashback to the lab at Bart's)  
JOHN (looking around the lab): Bit different from my day.  
SHERLOCK: ... said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.  
(He loudly clicks the 'k' sound at the end of the final word.)

"That makes a lot of sense now..."

John nods, "Watching that scene after he told me all of that, I could spot everything and it made so much sense."  
JOHN: You said I had a therapist.  
SHERLOCK: You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother.  
JOHN: Hmm?  
SHERLOCK (holding out his hand): Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then.  
(By now John has given him the phone and he turns it over and looks at it again as he talks.)  
SHERLOCK: Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already.  
JOHN: The engraving.  
(We see that engraved on the back of the phone are the words

Harry Watson  
From Clara  
xxx

SHERLOCK: Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father; this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he'd have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted to get rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking.  
JOHN: How can you possibly know about the drinking?  
SHERLOCK (smiling): Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them.  
(He hands the phone back.)  
SHERLOCK: There you go, you see – you were right.

"What exactly was Dr. Watson right about?" Kitty frowns in confusion, not following anything Sherlock was saying.  
JOHN: I was right? Right about what?  
SHERLOCK: The police don't consult amateurs.  
(He looks out of the side window, biting his lip nervously while he awaits John's reaction.)  
JOHN: That ... was amazing.  
(Sherlock looks round, apparently so surprised that he can't even reply for the next four seconds.)

"Why is he so surprised?"

"Maybe because certain people don't find his talent to be amazing. They call him a freak and dismiss him because he's different."  
SHERLOCK: Do you think so?  
JOHN: Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.  
SHERLOCK: That's not what people normally say.  
JOHN: What do people normally say?  
SHERLOCK: 'Piss off'!  
(He smiles briefly at John, who grins and turns away to look out of the window as the journey continues.)

"The poor dear... I wish people were nicer to him." Mrs. Hudson's eyes turn to Anderson, Donavan, and Kitty. All of whom have the decency to look ashamed.

BRIXTON. The cab has arrived at Lauriston Gardens and Sherlock and John get out and walk towards the police tape strung across the road.  
SHERLOCK: Did I get anything wrong?

"Of course he didn't. Why would he ask?" Anderson sighs.  
JOHN: Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce, and Harry is a drinker.  
SHERLOCK (looking impressed with himself): Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything.

"Of course he didn't," Donavan says sarcastically.  
JOHN: And Harry's short for Harriet.  
(Sherlock stops dead in his tracks.)

"What!?" The Yarders and Kitty cry in confusion.  
SHERLOCK: Harry's your sister.  
JOHN (continuing onwards): Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?  
SHERLOCK (furiously, through gritted teeth): Sister!  
JOHN: No, seriously, what am I doing here?  
SHERLOCK (exasperated, starting to walk again): There's always something.  
(They approach the police tape where they are met by Sergeant Donovan.)  
DONOVAN: Hello, freak.  
SHERLOCK: I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.  
DONOVAN: Why?  
SHERLOCK: I was invited.  
DONOVAN: Why?  
SHERLOCK (sarcastically): I think he wants me to take a look.  
DONOVAN: Well, you know what I think, don't you?  
SHERLOCK (lifting the tape and ducking underneath it): Always, Sally. (He breathes in through his nose.) I even know you didn't make it home last night.

"How could he tell just from smelling her?" Mary stared at the screen curiously.

Donavan and Anderson both look away in absolute embarrassment.  
DONOVAN: I don't ... (She looks at John.) Er, who's this?  
SHERLOCK: Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson.  
(He turns to John.)  
SHERLOCK: Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. (His voice drips with sarcasm.) Old friend.  
DONOVAN: A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!

"Maybe by meeting people that aren't arseholes and know how to be decent human beings to him?"  
(She turns to John.)  
DONOVAN: What, did he follow you home?  
JOHN: Would it be better if I just waited and ...  
SHERLOCK (lifting the tape for him): No.  
(As John walks under the tape, Donovan lifts a radio to her mouth.)  
DONOVAN (into radio): Freak's here. Bringing him in.  
(She leads the boys towards one of the houses. Sherlock looks all around the area and at the ground as they approach. As they reach the pavement, a man wearing a coverall over his clothes comes out of the house.)  
SHERLOCK: Ah, Anderson. Here we are again.  
(Anderson looks at him with distaste.)  
ANDERSON: It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?  
SHERLOCK (taking in another deep breath through his nose): Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?  
ANDERSON: Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.  
SHERLOCK: Your deodorant told me that.  
ANDERSON: My deodorant?  
SHERLOCK (with a quirky expression on his face): It's for men.  
ANDERSON: Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!  
SHERLOCK: So's Sergeant Donovan.  
(Anderson looks round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffs pointedly.)  
SHERLOCK: Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?

"Is he implying-"

"He's not implying anything." John laughs.  
ANDERSON (turning back and pointing at him angrily): Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ...  
SHERLOCK: I'm not implying anything.  
(He heads past Donovan towards the front door.)  
SHERLOCK: I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.  
(He turns back.)  
SHERLOCK: And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow as Sally and Anderson blush. Kitty frowns deeply. Everyone else laughs at the misfortune of the two Yarders.  
(Anderson and Donovan stare at him in horror. He smiles smugly, then turns and goes into the house. John walks past Sally, briefly but pointedly looking down to her knees, then follows Sherlock inside. Sherlock leads him into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is putting on a coverall. Sherlock points to a pile of similar items.)  
SHERLOCK (to John): You need to wear one of these.  
LESTRADE: Who's this?  
SHERLOCK (taking off his gloves): He's with me.  
LESTRADE: But who is he?  
SHERLOCK: I said he's with me.  
(John has taken off his jacket and picks up a coverall. He looks at Sherlock who has picked up a pair of latex gloves.)  
JOHN (referring to the coverall): Aren't you gonna put one on?  
(Sherlock just looks at him sternly. John shakes his head as if to say, 'Silly me. What was I thinking?!')  
SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): So where are we?  
LESTRADE (picking up another pair of latex gloves): Upstairs.

After Lestrade onscreen says that word the screen flickers to black and the people in the room are left to wonder what they have gotten into and how much they will gain from watching all of Sherlock and John's adventures.


End file.
